


no good for you

by her_black_tights



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Childhood Friends, F/M, Smut, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/her_black_tights/pseuds/her_black_tights
Summary: Clarke knows she shouldn’t want to sleep with Bellamy anymore, since she’s getting married to another man. But, when he shows up at her wedding suite shortly after she says, “I do,” she learns that resisting what they have is futile.





	no good for you

**Author's Note:**

> For the 100 kink meme prompt: Bellamy fucks Clarke in her wedding dress on the day she get married to another man (consensual plz!)
> 
> lol welcome to the most melodramatic thing I've ever written!!! god bless the kink meme and the kink meme admin, right?

She feels his eyes on her the whole ceremony, her betrayal of him burning into her skin like a brand. 

She knew it was cruel of her - to invite Bellamy to her wedding to the man she refused to leave for him but Finn had insisted. Clarke couldn’t find a way to say no that wasn’t suspicious and did not draw attention to the fact that she had been cheating on her husband-to-be with Bellamy for the past year, had been considering it for even longer. 

Still, that does not make it easier. As she walked down the aisle, her mother’s hand tight around her arm like a vice, she saw him, sitting in the back corner, arms folded across his chest and eyes rimmed with shadow.

He stared at her in that way of his that has always made her feel so naked. It took every bit of strength Clarke had left to pull her eyes away from him. His expression, the bare hopelessness of it, stayed with her the whole walk down the aisle.

The priest has begun talking, filling the air with empty platitudes about love and togetherness and commitment. Bile rises in Clarke’s throat. Finn reaches out and grabs her hand and she has to resist the urge to yank it away.

The vows begin. They exchange rings. Finn doesn’t notice how Clarke’s hand is shaking as she slips his onto his finger. The priest asks Finn if he will take Clarke to be his lawfully wedded wife. He says “I do.” The voice Clarke has been swallowing down for years is screaming, begging her to say no, to finally take a stand after a lifetime of complacency. But, still, she hears herself say “I do.” He smiles at her the whole time, just as blissfully clueless as he’s been for the entirety of their relationship to the way she truly feels about him. 

When the priest asks if there’s any objections to their union, her heart drops into her stomach.

Because she’s been thinking about this moment for months, ever since Finn proposed to her after six years of a relationship that they had both grown out of but didn’t have the courage to let run its natural course. The very next day, she went to Bellamy’s house, her best friend since he was 8 and she was 6 and they were two lonely kids growing up in the same neighborhood, and asked him to fuck her. She knew he would do whatever she asked. 

It had started as a way to convince herself that she needed to leave Finn. She thought that she was a good enough person that the guilt of cheating on her fiancee would force her to kill the deadened thing her relationship had turned into. 

Unfortunately, that was not the case. Over the past year, Clarke has learned the true depth of her depravity. The pleasure she took in knowing that Bellamy’s cum was dripping down her thigh while she made Finn dinner. The way her heart picked up whenever Bellamy sent her a picture of his dick, hard for her, while Finn and her sat on the couch, watching Netflix. How, sometimes, she would time Bellamy coming over to almost coincide when when Finn came home from work - almost like she wanted to get caught.

She had not expected him to be the one to end it. For some fucked up reason, she thought that he had accepted the circumstances just like she had. That there was no way that they could be together - that she had to marry Finn because she did not have the strength to leave nor the self-respect to think that not loving someone who loved you was a good enough reason to end a relationship. 

Her mother had told her, once, during a particularly ugly fight shortly after the death of her father, that Clarke would be lucky to find anyone who would love her - with how complicated and frustrating and duplicitous she could be. As much as she tried to fight it, those words had made a home inside her heart. 

A month before the wedding Bellamy told her that she had to choose, either him or Finn. She just stared at him, mouth hanging open like a guppy. Unable to pull the words from her throat, no matter how badly she wanted to say them. 

She’ll never forget the way his face crumpled when he realized she wasn’t choosing him. How his back bended with the force of his abjection. He left without another word and she has not seen him until today.

In her fantasies, he had always stood and objected and told everyone that he was in love with her. Then, she would fall into his arms and they would kiss and he would save her from the mess she had gotten herself into. Finn would not be able to argue with her about why they should still stay together, like he usually did whenever she had doubts. Her mother would be so ashamed of her that Clarke would not have to worry about ever having to speak to her again. And, finally, she would be free.

No such thing happens. Bellamy does not stand nor does anyone else. The priest announces them as husband and wife and instructs Finn and Clarke to kiss. She obeys. The crowd rises to their feet and cheers. Everyone except Bellamy, who remains seated, looking her straight in the eye as she and her new husband walk down the aisle together. 

*

After, she tells Finn that she needs to a moment to herself before the reception. Clueless as ever to Clarke’s emotional state, Finn merely grins and tells her to meet him in the banquet hall when she’s ready.

She lets out a breath she did not know she’s holding.

The hotel hosting the wedding is excruciatingly extravagant, the type of place where rooms can cost up to $1,000 a night. Her mother paid to have a whole wing of it reserved - sparing no expense. Clarke walks as quickly as she can in her towering heels to the bathroom that has been set aside specifically for her use. 

Her heart bangs against the lattice of her ribcage as she slips inside. She’s greeted by white marble, a powder room outfitted with beautiful, modern furniture, and a door that leads to a bathroom that she’s sure is equally as luxurious. 

All it does is remind her how the rest of her life will be full of places like this - beautiful rooms filled with absurdly expensive fixtures to distract from their ultimate emptiness, how when you have this much money, even the most breathtaking objects start to lose their meaning. 

There’s a mirror directly across from the seating area. In it, Clarke sees herself in the wedding dress she always dreamed of: a creamy ivory, low-cut and backless and lacy, perfectly tailored to her curves. Her hairs in intricate updo that had taken the hairstylist at least an hour - probably more. Her makeup is immaculate - her complexion porcelain, her lips painted red, her eyes lined perfectly in black. 

Looking at her reflection makes her sick. She turns away and finds herself sitting in one of the plush chairs, wondering what the fuck she’s gotten herself into.

Just when she feels like she’s about to drown in self-pity, the door opens. Clarke’s heart soars as Bellamy walks in in the one formal suit he owns, his hair messy and five o’clock shadow growing in. She can smell the cigarette he just smoked. 

God, she’s never been so simultaneously ecstatic and devastated to see someone in her entire life.

“What are you doing here?” she asks as she rises to her feet. She cannot trust herself around him. In the month since he broke off their arrangement, she’s gone through a pain akin to withdrawal, her body desperate for the high she knows he can give her. Already, she feels herself getting wet, her body shamefully flushed, as he stands there, hands in his pockets, glowering at her. 

She’s never seen him this angry. They’ve known each other for twenty years now, since Clarke knocked on the Blakes’ door desperate for a friend. Bellamy answered. Octavia was still a baby. Aurora wasn’t home, working through the weekend at her job at an alterations and tailor shop that underpaid her. Clarke, on the other hand, lived in a towering mansion at the end of the street. Her father worked in finance, her mother in medicine. They could not have been more different but what they shared was a bone deep loneliness and, together, they attempted to cure themselves of it. They never quite succeeded but, over time, their friendship has become one of the cornerstones of Clarke’s life. 

And, she’s destroyed it all, just because she couldn’t summon up enough backbone to break off a relationship with someone she hasn’t been in love with in years.

“I wanted to give my heartfelt congratulations to the bride personally,” he says, acid hanging heavy on every word. All the color leaks from Clarke’s face. She takes a step toward him and he stiffens, almost like he’s scared of her touching him.

“Bellamy…” she starts but the intensity of the fury in his eyes silence her before she can say anything more. 

“Are you happy? I know this is the wedding you’ve always wanted. Does it feel good? To be Mrs. Collins? Is it everything you dreamed of?” he asks and each of his jabs bury themselves deep in her skin, painful and sharp. She notices that he’s shaking. If she did not know him better, she would be scared that he would hurt her. 

“You know it isn’t. You know that. You know I don’t want this,” she says. Her voice is so small she just barely hears herself. 

He laughs, short and harsh. 

“You’re such a fucking head trip, you know that? I’ve spent the past month trying to convince myself that you would pull through at the last second. That you would finally realize that you shouldn’t marry him. But, you didn’t. You actually fucking married him. In front of everyone. In front of me.”

His voice breaks on the last syllable. Clarke’s heart shatters. She takes another step toward him, reaches out to place a comforting hand on his arm but he winces away from her touch. Tears sting at the corners of her eyes at his refusal. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

He isn’t looking at her. Arms folded, just like they had been when she walked down the aisle. Hopelessness gives way to a twin fury to match his. “Fuck you, Bellamy,” she spits, taking a step closer to him with the intention of making him uncomfortable. 

Suddenly, his body comes alive and he’s everywhere - backing her into a corner, his body blocking her escape completely. For the first time, a current of fear shoots up Clarke’s spine but it’s accompanied with the sickest arousal. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he says, his voice deadly low. He’s so close she can see his pupils dilating. Tastes his rage on the tip of her tongue as he pants into her mouth. 

“Or what?”

“Or, I’m not going to be able to control myself and what I might do to you.”

She shivers. 

“And, what’s that?” she asks. He presses one of his hands to the wall - to box her in further. She’s seen Bellamy fight before - with the bullies who’d follow him home after school, any man who dared to look at Octavia, and anyone who hurt Clarke. She knows he’s not above using intimidation to get what he wants. 

“Fuck you until you’re so full of my come that he feels it on his dick when he tries to have sex with you tonight.”

Clarke hears herself whimper. Wetness breaks through her lacy, barely there underwear and drips down her thigh. 

His lips twitch up in something that might have been a smile, if it did not have such a cruel edge to it. He reaches out and cups her face with his other hand. His grip on her jaw is bruising. He’s never been this rough with her before. Would always call her “Princess,” would ask her what she wanted, would pull sugar spun moans from her lips, her pleasure his foremost concern. She has always known he has this side to him but it has always been something he protected her from. 

Now, his rage seems to have dissolved whatever tenderness he once held toward her and it’s making her wetter than she’s ever been before, her heart a small, fluttering bird beating at the cage of her ribs. 

“Is that what you want, Clarke? Do you want me to ruin you for your husband?”

She nods. 

“Use your words.”

She blushes. “Bellamy…” she starts, pleading for him to let up a little. He knows she’s never been comfortable with dirty talk. She’d been warming up to it more, in the last couple months where they’d been sleeping together and he’d always been understanding. 

He shakes his head. “No. If I’m going to do this, you need to beg for it. It’s the least you could do,” he says, his words anger-tinged. He tightens his grip on her jaw. 

She wishes she was a big enough person to refuse. To tell him that this has gone far enough and that he needs to leave. But, like always, Bellamy shows her where she’s the weakest. Where her character leaves much to be desired. 

“Please, Bell. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

His eyes light up with something that terrifies her and makes her pussy pulse all at once. 

He does not kiss her like he did before, soft and loving and kind. Like she was fragile - something he could break. No, there is something unhinged about the way he fucks his tongue into her mouth, using his hand to keep her in place. And, does she fucking love it, biting at his lip, clawing at his chest with her hands. The pressure of his body against hers has turned her into a writhing, desperate thing, more want than girl, and it’s kind of fucked up how this is the most turned on she’s been in her whole life: wearing her wedding dress, begging Bellamy Blake to fuck her.

His hands drops to cup her breast through the bodice of her dress. He pulls his lips away from her mouth, only to trail sharp, biting kisses across her collarbone. They’re going to leave a mark. She doesn’t give a shit. 

“God, you look so goddamn beautiful in this dress,” he mutters, his mouth sweet and reverent against her skin. He maneuvers his hand beneath the cup to pinch at her nipple and she keens, throwing her head against the wall. He forces the other down, her breast spilling out of the dress. He sucks her nipple into his mouth and then pulls at with his teeth. Clarke’s hands drop to his head, wrapping his curls tightly around her fingers. The dueling sensations of pleasure and pain make her spine feel like its melting - a candle whose wick is burning too low. Soft nonsense sounds fall from her lips and her wetness causes her thighs to move slickly against each other. 

“Fuck, baby, are you gonna come just from me playing with your tits?” he asks and all she can do is whimper in response. She never has before, usually needs his fingers or cock inside her. Suddenly, he bites at her hard then soothes the ache with his tongue and Clarke comes with a scream, her hands pulling at his hair so hard she’s sure she’s hurting him but that just seems to spurn him on, sucking as much of her tit as he can into her mouth and torturing her with his tongue until her knees are trembling and tears are flowing down her face. 

She opens her eyes to see what she’s turned him into. Hair wild, mouth pink and a little bloody from her teeth, eyes so hungry he looks like he wants to swallow her whole. “Does he make you come like that?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“No. I only come like that for you,” she says, her voice raw and raspy. She feels his smile of approval when he kisses her. 

Possessed by a wanton spirit, Clarke’s hand grasps Bellamy and trails it up her dress, to where she’s wet and desperate for him. They both let out a moan when he presses his fingers against the mess he’s made of her underwear - the special bridal set that she had purchased for her wedding night. “Christ, Clarke, you’re so fucking wet,” he murmurs, his words awe-tinged. “Do you get wet like this for your husband?” he asks, such hatred wrapped around “husband” that it comes out as a growl. 

“No. I only get wet like this for you,” she says, holding his gaze as she speaks, reveling in the way her fuck rough voice ignites a fire in him. He makes her feel more powerful than she has in her whole life, the way he reacts to her the most addictive kind of high. 

He rubs at her from outside her underwear, the rasp of the lace against her clit a tease. She moans and grapples at his arms for purchase. 

“This pussy is mine. Do you understand that?” he says as he tears her underwear apart. Scraps of white fabric fall to her feet. Before she can mourn the loss of it, his fingers are inside her and he’s fucking her open, getting her ready for his cock. 

Clarke’s mouth falls open. Her eyes roll back in her head. He is not gentle, slipping a third finger inside her when she’s just barely adjusted to a second but she’s wetter than sin and it slips in easily. 

“Yes yes yes,” she cries as he works his fingers slow and dirty over her g-spot. In the entirety of her relationship with Finn, he’s never been able to find it. Clarke fakes most of her orgasms with him. Until Bellamy, she thought that she was just one of those people who couldn’t come from penetration. He soon proved her wrong.

Just when she feels herself about to tip over into another orgasm, Bellamy pulls his hand away from her. She cries out in protest. Her eyes fly open to see him standing there, smirking. She would hate him if he didn’t look so handsome. When she was younger, she had always thought they would end up together. That he would be the one she would put on this dress for. 

“Bell,” she whines, grabbing at his wrist. He laughs and yanks his hand away from her. Uses it to unzip his pants and pull his cock through the opening. Her mouth waters at the sight. If they had more time, she would have insisted on blowing him but she’s already been gone for too long and she’s sure that Finn and her mother are starting to wonder where she is. 

She rucks up her dress as high as she can. She bends over to take off her heels but Bellamy stops her. “Leave them,” he commands, before lifting her to standing. 

He moves her body so easily, taking her from the wall and then bending her over the nearest table. The marble is cool against her breasts. He kicks her legs apart and drags a thumb against her opening. Her whole body jumps in response and she lets out a broken sound. “Please, Bell,” she cries out. 

“If only your husband could see you like this. Wet and dripping and begging for my cock.”

Clarke feels even more wetness drip down her thigh at his words. Bellamy draws his fingers through it and uses it to slick himself up. 

Before, he would always enter her slowly, giving her time to adjust to his girth and length since he’s so much bigger than Finn. This time, he doesn’t. 

First, she feels the pressure of the tip, pressing just barely against her and then, suddenly, he slams into her. Clarke screams. It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much, and it feels so fucking good. He doesn’t let up for a second, driving his cock into her at a speed where she can barely process what she’s feeling. She feels tears leaking down her face, feels bruise forming where his hipbones keep digging into her skin, tastes blood on her tongue from biting her lip, and god, does she fucking love it. Knowing that he’s turning her into this animal, just for his enjoyment. 

“Holy shit, princess, you feel-“ he starts to say but then he bottoms out, reaching her end, and both of them cry out in unison. “Holy shit,” he repeats as he draws himself out slowly, only to fuck into her that deep again. He touches a spot so deep inside her she does not even know what it is - only that she needs him to keep doing it. She arches her back and pushes her ass against him. 

“Need something, baby?” he asks, his voice rougher than she’s ever heard it. She whimpers, struggling to pull the words together, her brain a mess of pleasure and pain and want and not much else. 

“More. Deeper,” she manages. Her hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her skin feels electric as he moves his hand up her back to her shoulder, so he can pull her onto his dick as he thrusts into her. The first time he does it, she sobs with the too much of it. She’s so close she can feel herself begin to spasm. He hits the spot deep inside her on every stroke and she sobs with how good it feels - how he always gives her exactly what she wants. 

“Come for me, Clarke. Show me that you know who this pussy belongs to.”

As if he’s flipped a switch, she falls apart as soon as he finishes speaking, her body trembling, her knees buckling, and the only word on her lips is his name, repeated over and over again like it’s a prayer. He follows shortly after, the sensation of his cum hitting her cervix setting off another wave of pleasure. 

Once he’s spent, he collapses on top of her. She feels his heartbeat against her back, rapid and thundering. 

After a moment too long, he lifts off of her back and helps her up. They don’t make eye contact. Clarke pulls her dress down. Thankfully, it’s not ruined. A little rumpled, maybe, but nothing that Finn will notice. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is mussed up, her lipstick gone, but otherwise, the setting spray the makeup artist used has kept everything else in place. She takes a step closer to the mirror and begins to fix her hair. Bellamy, to her surprise, steps behind her and begins to help, pushing bobby pins back into place.

“Can you get my bag?” she asks and he does. She pulls out the foundation that matches her body perfectly, to cover the hickeys that he’s given her. Bellamy watches, his face unreadable. He’s seen her do this before. 

Once the hickeys are covered up, she reapplies her lipstick. Stares at herself in the mirror. She does not look different but she knows something has changed - that she’s fallen deeper down the rabbit hole of her own depravity. She wonders if there’s any bottom or if she will fall forever - until she and Bellamy have destroyed each other and anyone who dares to keep them apart. 

She turns around to face him. He’s done his pants up, tucked his shirt back in.“How do I look?” she asks, her voice breaking a little on the last syllable. 

“Breathtaking. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he says.

Her heart breaks even more than it already has. 

“Bellamy-“ she starts but he shakes his head, cutting her off before she can say whatever useless thing she was going to say this time. 

“Just don’t, Clarke. We both know that you’re going to go back to him. You don’t need to pretend otherwise for my sake,” he says.

“I wish it was you. I always have. I always thought I would marry you,” she hears herself saying. And it’s the truth, the one she’s been fighting her whole life. That she loves Bellamy the same way he loves her, that she always has, even when she was a kid. She does not know why she let her mother’s disapproval steal that happiness away from them. Why she’s ended up marrying the boy her mother picked out for her, the one who’s from a good family, who went to an Ivy League, who barely knows her well enough to love her. 

Bellamy laughs and it’s a sad sound. He reaches out and cups her face, gentle this time. Soothes his thumb against her cheekbone. 

“Me too, princess.”

He presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” he says. His voice breaks a little. With that, he leaves. Clarke knows she’ll see him again. She knows that this won’t be the last time. She knows that the love they have for each other is eternal and burning and terrifying and that nothing will stand in its way - not even her being married to someone else. 

She takes an extra moment to collect herself and push any stray hairs back into place. Then, she collects all of her belongings and heads out the door.

The reception hall is a short walk away from the bathroom. She sees that happy hour is just ending and everyone’s looking for their seats. Finn spots her immediately and rushes toward her. 

“Babe, where were you? We’re about to sit down for dinner. Your mom and I were looking everywhere for you.”

She blushes. Feels Bellamy’s cum drying on her thigh. “Oh, I just had a headache and had to lay down for a while,” she says. Over Finn’s shoulder, she sees Bellamy, taking a seat at a table with the rest of her friends. He meets her gaze. Takes the fingers that were inside her just minutes before and sucks them into his mouth. 

Clarke shivers. She cannot wait to see what new terrible thing he’ll teach her about herself the next time.


End file.
